


In the End

by Siriuslytyrell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All of the Stark sisters love, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siriuslytyrell/pseuds/Siriuslytyrell
Summary: All she had to do was fall in love with him. Although, that was easy, in the end.





	1. Chapter 1

All she had to do was fall in love with him. Although, that was easy, in the end. 

The return to Winterfell was difficult, every corner and stone seemingly the same, but everything so different. No Robb, or Rickon, or her parents, or Old Nan, or even Jeyne Poole. Sometimes Arya thought she heard her mocking laugh, echoing through the hallways. Even those who had returned were different. Jon had fled to the Wall less than a week after the war ended and he had renounced his claim to the throne. Arya hadn’t been able to bring herself to stopping him. Queen Daenerys had given Winterfell and the North back to the Starks, but Sansa had been the only one left to lead. Her sister, head once filled with beautiful knights and fairytales, drifted through the castle like a ghost. She was a good ruler, strong and fair, but she wasn’t Sansa Stark anymore. She was the Lady of Winterfell, Wardeness of the North, but not the pretty, vapid, auburn-haired girl who had left for King’s Landing with dreams of becoming queen. 

With Bran disappearing into the godswood for days on end and Theon’s new position as Master of Arms, it was the forge where Arya found herself spending her days. Gendry had followed them back from King’s Landing when the queen had not so lightly suggested that the Usurper’s bastards stay away from her throne and, by extension, the city she resides in. Sansa had welcomed him into their party with a wry smile that Arya had never seen on her face before. She had avoided the blacksmith for most of the journey, but, back in Winterfell, he was the only thing that seemed to be in place. She snuck off to see him at every opportunity. He was older and stronger than before, his eyes far darker with the things he’d done at Jon’s side during the war, but he was Gendry. He was her family and it was hard to remember that he hadn’t been at her side in Braavos, with the Hound, or at all during the war. He had been a story, a name mentioned in the single letter from Jon providing all of her hope that he was still alive. Now, she was basking in the warmth of the forge, watching him force a sword into shape. She sat against the wall, drawing circles in the dirt in front of her, the clang of metal a soothing lullaby. 

The next morning, Arya woke in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, with a very familiar snore coming from the ground beside her. “Gendry?” she whispered, the sun peeking under the door a clear indicator of time. She pulled the blanket tighter around her. She had forgotten how cold it was away from the warmth of the stone castle and its springs. The man shot up from his place on the floor into a defensive stance, hands reaching for weapons that were no longer permanently strapped to his limbs. She reached a hand out to touch his wrist, pulling it away sharply just before making contact. Gendry ran a hand through his dark hair. 

“I- I didn’t think it would be proper to take you back to the castle,” he said, face flushed. She snorted. 

“I don’t think anyone around here would be surprised by the wild Stark girl being improper anymore, stupid.” The glances and whispers about the sword at her hip and the direwolf at her side had stopped the first time Sansa had stood to address her people with her sister, sword and wolf included, standing beside her. Gendry shook his head. “I’m cold.” She shifted closer to the wall, clearly indicating the space beside her. 

“No,” he said sharply, turning away. Arya huffed.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being responsible,” he half-growled. “Your sister is the Lady of Winterfell.” Arya bristled, flinging the blanket off of her and searching for her boots. She knew who her sister was.

“Fuck you, Gendry.” He just sighed and handed her the shoe that she was missing. She stomped back to the castle in a fury, barely acknowledging the raised eyebrows from the guards as she entered the castle, or Nymeria as she fell into step beside her mistress. She climbed into her own bed immediately, only for someone to knock at her door. Nymeria raised her head, but Arya laid a hand on her back to quiet her. “Go away!” she called. 

“Arya, it’s me,” Sansa said softly, her voice entirely different from when she had given a speech only the day before. Slowly, they were all finding a middle between what they had been and what they were forced to become. Arya pulled her blankets tighter over her.

“Oh, come in, then,” she instructed. Her sister stepped into the room, wearing a gown strikingly similar to the ones their mother used to wear. She sat down on the edge of Arya’s bed, patting Nymeria lightly on the head. 

“Where were you last night?” Sansa asked, the reproach in her voice clear. Arya slid further under the blankets. 

“Nowhere.” Sansa rolled her eyes and stood up, walking around the bed to get in beside her. 

“You weren’t here.” Arya turned to look at her. 

“No.” Sansa sighed and, not for the first time, Arya noticed how old her sister had gotten. 

“Next time, can you at least tell someone where you’re going. I don’t care if you’re in the godswood or out riding or with Robert Baratheon’s son, but I do not appreciate being woken by a panicked handmaid who doesn’t know where you are.” Arya felt guilt rise in her chest. “We have lost everyone else, please don’t make me think that I have lost you as well.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, feeling like a little girl being scolded by her mother, at least, until Catelyn’s threats had started outnumbering every other type of communication combined.. Sansa nodded, hands pressed flat against her stomach. 

“Were you with him?” Arya scoffed and stared resolutely at the ceiling. 

“Gendry?” She paused. “Yes.” Sansa nodded sagely, turning to look at her. 

“Do you love him?” Arya laughed.

“Of course not, stupid. It’s Gendry.” Sansa sat up and Arya followed suit. 

“You can, you know. I meant what I said when we came back, I will not force you to marry anyone that you don’t choose, or at all if that’s your wish. I did mean that you can marry who you like. Even if that is a bastard from King’s Landing.” Sansa’s voice barely even caught on the word bastard and Arya’s heart twinged at the reminder of Jon. She shoved the feeling down and stuck her tongue out at her sister. She did remember Sansa’s promise, which had followed a long night of tears and stories as they shared the years that they had been apart. 

“Queen Daenerys did knight him. He’s Ser Gendry Waters now,” Arya admitted. In a way, he belonged to the queen. He wasn’t just hers anymore. Sansa stuck her tongue out back and Arya forgot that she was looking at the Lady of Winterfell for a minute. She was her sister, or, at least, who her sister would have been if they had gotten along as children and grown up together, in Winterfell. 

“Then, of course, I have no protests if you wish to marry him.” Sansa’s tone was light and mocking. Arya fell back down with a groan. 

“I don’t want to marry him. I just want to spend time with him.” Sansa stood up, straightening her skirts as well as she could. Nymeria whined at the movement. 

“Then spend time with him, Arya. Just, please, tell someone if you are not returning to the castle.” With that, Sansa strode from the room, every inch Lady Sansa Stark again. Arya sighed, trying to shake the idea of marrying Gendry from her head. She didn’t want to marry him, she had never even looked at him like that. It certainly would be easier, to spend her days at his side. After all, while Sansa insisted that she need never marry if she didn’t wish to, she would have to eventually. They both would, as terrifying as the idea was. The Stark blood couldn’t die with them, even if the name did. She could love Gendry, Arya thought, if only she tried. She looked at Nymeria, trying to find an answer in the direwolf’s eyes, but she only saw her own doubts reflected back at her. It never occurred to her that the strange mixture of fondness, protectiveness, and a million other emotions she felt every time she looked at the blacksmith could already be love. 

Arya returned to the forge that afternoon, Nymeria at her back and a new purpose in her step. 

Falling in love was never difficult. Facing it, however, was another fight to be had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling in love was never difficult. Facing it, however, was another fight to be had.

Falling in love was never difficult. Facing it, however, was another fight to be had.

A fortnight after her conversation with Sansa about godsdamned Gendry, Arya couldn’t get him out of her head. She would sit in the same spot on the ground in the forge, but, instead of watching the blacksmith hammer bits of metal into shape, she found herself watching said blacksmith’s arms, how his muscles seemed to ripple as he swung the hammer. Arya Stark was caught in a haze of indecision she hadn’t seen since Joffrey Lannister had taken off her father’s head. The haze wasn’t helped by the fact that every time she saw Sansa, her older sister would raise one eyebrow, asking a question that Arya couldn’t answer. 

After days of the same routine, Arya came to the conclusion that she simply wasn’t built to have such girly emotions. While Sansa had spent much of her childhood eagerly absorbing every love-filled story and carefully watching how lords and ladies interacted when they came to Winterfell, Arya had been hiding from their mother and begging Rodrik Cassel to let her wield a sword. While Sansa was a wolf tamed and weaponized by lions in their own den, Arya had been left to roam, ripping out the throats of anyone who got too close. Anyone who would have taught her how to deal with the emotions that wouldn’t go away had given up before her fourth name day. And anyway, they would have taught Arya the lady how to be courted by a lord’s son. Arya the girl would have still been at a loss about how to approach Gendry. 

It was Theon who brought attention to the fact that Arya was sneaking in and out of the castle with the sun each morning and evening when he cornered her outside of the forge. Arya noticed the man a second before he stepped close enough to grab her and had him pinned to the wall, a dagger to his neck, before he took a second breath. It wasn’t until blood began to bead up on his throat that she registered the smirk that had haunted her childhood. She let him up with a scoff. “What the hells, Greyjoy?” Theon grinned. 

“So this is where you disappear off to every day? To see your pet blacksmith?” Arya would never understand why Sansa had let the kraken back in Winterfell. Even if he didn’t kill their brothers. 

“It isn’t any of your business where I spend my time!” she insisted, her voice low as to not draw the attention of any smallfolk nearby. Theon had no such reservations.

“I’ve earned that look in your eye. I have. I know I abandoned Robb. But I will not stand by while something happens to another Stark!” Arya recognized the desperation in his face, then, but didn’t back down. 

“Go protect Sansa then! I’m fine.” Arya turned to leave just as the door to the forge opened, revealing the face that had filled her dreams for weeks. Before she could tell him to go back inside, she found herself shoved behind a warm body, Gendry himself brandishing a short sword that Arya recognized as his most recently completed project. 

“Who the hell are you?” Gendry demanded. Theon looked at the man, his eyes drifted back to Arya, then back to Gendry. The smirk that spread across his face was almost enough for Arya to wish Gendry would run him through. Her father’s former ward raised his hands in surrender. 

“Theon Greyjoy. Just making sure Lady Arya was safe, clearly she’s in good hands. I’ll be taking my leave.” Theon disappeared into the shadows just as he’d always done and Arya whirled Gendry around to face her. 

“I don’t need protecting!” she scolded, any thought for the people on the street gone in favor of blinding anger. Gendry ushered her into the forge and, not for the first time, Arya cursed her small stature. It was far too easy for Gendry to move her aside.

“You think I don’t know that?” he asked with a weary sigh. Arya bristled at the exasperation seeping into the air around the man. “You don’t need protecting. You’ve survived just fine without me. The cat that spends evenin’s on the floor in front of my heart doesn’t need me to let him in every night. He survived just fine before your sister brought me back here. That doesn’t mean he won’t let me make his life just a little bit easier. Why can’t you do the same?” Arya brushed off the majority of his point, instead choosing to focus on one bit of wording.

“My sister didn’t bring you anywhere. The queen sent you here,” she argued. Gendry raised an eyebrow. 

“The queen sent me out of King’s Landing. Lady Sansa caught me outside your rooms at least three times, by the third time she barely spared me a glance and the next day a stable boy was informing me that the Starks were goin’ back to Winterfell and did I want him to saddle my horse or would I be takin’ care of that myself?” Arya’s stomach flipped, at both the information and the way Gendry sounded more like the bastard boy from Flea Bottom that he was when they met than he had in months. 

“I-I didn’t know,” she finally stuttered. Gendry ran a hand through his hair, his deep blue eyes boring into her dark ones. 

“I know that, Arya.” Arya couldn’t stop herself. She launched herself at Gendry, her lips crashing into his. 

Gendry stumbled back, but, before Arya could regret her decision, one of his hands was twining into her hair, the other holding her steady as she balanced on her toes to reach him. Arya’s thoughts stopped making sense, her entire being melted as she was surrounded by a sensation that was so completely Gendry. It felt like coming home, in a way that returning to Winterfell could never quite capture. It felt like burying her face in Nymeria’s fur, like the first sight of Sansa’s red hair in the courtyard after years apart, like Jon, picking her up and spinning her around like she was a child again. 

Gendry was the one to break the kiss, Arya trailing after him even as he untangled her hair from around his fingers. She could feel a smile on her face, just as she felt it disappear at the look on his. “What, stupid?” she pouted. Gendry took a full step back. 

“We can’t, Arya. I’ve told you.” Arya frowned, taking two steps forward to equate for his one. 

“You haven’t told me anything. And we can do whatever we like. We’ve earned that, at least.”

“I needn’t remind you of who you are or who I am. I don’t want you to hit me again. But, even if you weren’t a lady and I wasn’t a bastard-born half-knight, you deserve more and better than I could ever give you,” Gendry spat out. 

“I don’t want more than you. Gods, I just want you!” Arya replied, passion coloring her voice. 

“Arya, just- just please go.” A pit opened in Arya’s stomach, deep and all-consuming. She fled as quickly as possible, her footsteps silent across the stone even as she slid into the courtyard. She brushed off Theon’s amused glance and ran for the godswood, the only place no one would bother her. 

Bran was in his chair, sitting amongst the trees as he always seemed to do. At the sight of him, Arya turned, a refusal to deal with the brother who wasn’t really her brother anymore rising in her chest. Arya spun, her feet trying to take her places she couldn’t go anymore. There was nowhere to hide in Winterfell anymore, so she had taken to running to the forge. Without the forge, without Gendry, as a place to hide, she was stuck. Arya sank to the ground, her knees sliding slightly on the frozen ground. “Arya?” Sansa’s voice rang through the air, her accent so like Robb’s had been, a balance of rough Northern passion and poised courtly manners, that Arya’s heart broke again. At the rate it was going, there wouldn’t be anything left but pieces, parts of her that Arya would have sworn on all of the gods had disappeared the day she left Westeros. 

“Arya,” Sansa said again, closer. “Arya, Theon told me you were out here.” Arya didn’t look up, even as her sister sat down beside her, skirts splayed out on the ground. Even then, Sansa looked like the perfect lady. Arya looked up at her, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, my sweet sister,” Sansa whispered, gathering Arya in her arms. Arya let herself be held, let her hair be stroked, let Sansa brush away the fact that just hours before, it had been Gendry’s hand on her back, Gendry’s hand in her hair. At the thought, Arya just cried harder. She felt ridiculous, she had survived too much to be taken apart by a few words from a man. And Gendry, of all men. 

Finally, Arya pulled away from her sister. “I will never marry, Sansa. I can’t.” Realization dawned on her sister’s face. She put a hand on Arya’s chin, drawing her up to meet clear blue eyes. 

“As I have said before, you need not worry about marrying. Not for me, nor for the North. This is not on you. I will not ask what happened with your blacksmith, but I will remind you that I have a number of guards who would find no issue with taking a short trip into town in the morning,” Sansa said softly. Arya almost smiled at the implication, still so out of character from the Sansa she kept expecting to return. Expectations, however, were not hopes. She quite liked the new Sansa. 

“Thank you,” Arya whispered. Sansa nodded firmly, standing up to offer her sister a hand. The Stark daughters left the godswood arm in arm and Arya accepted Sansa’s offer to dine in her solar that night. 

The next afternoon, Arya was sparring with Theon in the yard when Sansa appeared with a stalling hand on her elbow. Arya wrenched her arm free, still high on the adrenaline of a fight. “What?” she shouted, a laugh bubbling up in her chest. 

“Come find me when you are finished, we need to speak,” Sansa said, just loud enough for Theon to hear as well. There must have been an unspoken order in Sansa’s words, for Theon let Arya best him in a few short minutes after her sister left. Curiosity outweighed indignance and Arya went to find her sister. 

Sansa was sitting in her solar, abandoned embroidery sitting on her lap. There was a strange look on her face, but it was one Arya had taken to associate with her sister sitting at her desk, pouring over maps and agreements. Arya took a seat beside her. “Sansa, what is it? Has there been word from Jon?” Her sister smiled and took her hand, clearly to banish any worry. 

“Ser Gendry came to me this morning,” she started, a smile creeping onto her face. Arya stood up, fear clutching at her heart. 

“He can’t do that! You can’t send him away!” Sansa’s smile disappeared and she gestured for Arya to sit back down. 

“Arya. That’s not what he came to speak to me about. He asked my permission to court you,” Sansa explained. Arya deflated slightly and she wrinkled her nose. 

“He did? Why?”

“Maybe because he wishes to court you and would like official permission to do so. He did the right thing, Arya.” Arya rolled her eyes. 

“So what? He got your permission, but he hasn’t talked to me!” Sansa smiled softly. 

“Go down to the kitchens,” she commanded, straightening her shoulders. Arya drew back. 

“Why?” she asked suspiciously. 

“Just do it,” Sansa said, clearly exasperated. Arya bowed her head slightly and ran to the kitchens, barely out of breath as she greeted the cooks. Standing in the doorway to the courtyard was a tall man with his back to her, dark hair stark against the gray of the sky. 

“Gendry,” Arya breathed. At his name, Gendry turned. That time, Arya did stop before pouncing, just long enough to hit him on the shoulder. “You’re so stupid,” she scolded, already kissing him before he had a chance to retort. 

Falling in love was easy, but it wasn’t the end. Not nearly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking there will be a final chapter, a wedding perhaps? I'd like to see Jon show up and that would be a good excuse. I have also written a possibility of Theon/Sansa into this, so if anyone would like to see that, this could become a series? Maybe? Let me know! Comments are literally the only reason this chapter exists!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling in love was easy, but it wasn’t the end. Not nearly.

Falling in love was easy, but it wasn’t the end. Not nearly. 

Arya had decided sometime before her fifth nameday that she would never get married. She would be a knight and the best swordsman in all seven kingdoms. Then her father was beheaded and everything went to shit. She hadn’t even been old enough for her mother to start preaching about the Tully family words and how it was her duty to make an advantageous match and start a family of her own.

When she met Gendry, Arya found a family for the first time since fleeing King’s Landing. But still, she didn’t think of courting or marriage. He was Gendry and he was hers, but it wasn’t like that.

It took almost losing Gendry and actually losing her parents, two brothers, and her childhood, for Arya to see beyond her childish conceptions of marriage. She was never going to be her mother, calmly accepting the bretrothals arranged for her without complaint, even when she was passed down from one brother to the next. But nor could she be her Aunt Lyanna, eschewing duty and a loveless betrothal to follow her passion. She had seen the pain on Jon’s face when he told his sisters of his true parentage and, while she wouldn’t trade Jon for anything, no one person’s happiness was worth starting a war. 

Being courted by Gendry didn’t much change Arya’s daily life. Or, at least, it didn’t once she made it clear that under no circumstances would she marry a man who tried to win her affection with gifts and grand words. The only real difference was that she could stare at him all she wanted while he worked, and he would hold her gaze and grin when he caught her. 

Three days before her wedding, Arya skidded into the forge, boots dripping with rapidly melting snow. “There’s been incoming sighted from the North!” she announced, a grin on her face. She didn’t realize the connotations of her words until Gendry blanched, grabbing wildly for his hammer. She stepped forward, waving her hands at him. “Not those incoming, stupid. Jon!” 

Gendry took a second to shake off the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Old habit.” He hesitated. “Do you think Jon will still like me now that he knows that I’m stealing his little sister away?” Arya stepped up to him and put her hands on his shoulders, grey eyes staring into blue. 

“You’re not stealing anyone and I’m not going away. Jon will be happy that I’m happy. And you supposedly saved his life, so I think you’re fine,” she told him. Gendry blushed slightly. 

“I didn’t save anyone. I fought in the war, like every other soldier, and I killed white walkers. Your brother is just stupidly noble and doesn’t watch his own back.” Arya scowled and punched his shoulder. 

“Don’t call my brother stupid.” Gendry sighed. 

“Is he here or not?” Arya grinned, again, before spinning on her heel, leaving Gendry to trail behind her. 

Sansa was standing just inside the gates, Bran and Nymeria on either side of her. Arya raised an eyebrow at her direwolf. She was starting to spend nearly as much time shadowing Sansa as she did her mistress. Nymeria just tilted her head. 

Arya heard Gendry’s heavy footsteps behind her as she took her place in the line of Starks. Theon was standing a few feet away and Gendry started towards him. Arya whipped her head around to glare at him. She pointed at the ground beside her and he scowled at her before acquiescing. “Your sister won’t like it,” he whispered. Arya looked over at Sansa, who was straining to see beyond the open gate in an entirely unladylike fashion. 

“I don’t think she minds,” Arya announced, not bothering to lower her voice. Gendry opened his mouth to reply when the riders came into view. Lord Commander Jon Snow had barely dismounted when he found himself with a face full of dark hair. Arya clung to his neck, inhaling the smell of snow and horse that clung to his skin. She felt Jon chuckle and finally let go to look at him properly. The war had aged them all, but Jon looked younger than he had when he’d left Winterfell last. He had a scar that hadn’t yet healed when he left that stretched from his left eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. It made him look commanding. Arya smiled and hugged him again. “Welcome home,” she whispered against his neck. Jon hugged her back tightly and she felt Ghost nose at her leg. 

Arya let go reluctantly when Sansa cleared her throat. Her sister offered a hand to Jon. “Welcome to Winterfell, Lord Commander.” Arya frowned, but Jon took the proffered hand and kissed it. 

“Thank you, my lady.” Arya made a protesting noise, but it was ignored as Jon dropped Sansa’s hand to pull her into a tight hug. Sansa swayed slightly and Arya couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. When they broke apart, Sansa swiped at her eyes. “You’ve done well,” Jon said quietly, for only them to hear. Arya reached back to take Gendry’s hand. Jon turned towards the movement and the smile on his face disappeared. 

“So you’re the man who thinks he’s good enough for my sister,” Jon boomed, louder and deeper than his normal voice. Gendry shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Jon- er, Lord Commander. Um,” Gendry stammered. Arya giggled and Jon winked at her before holding out a hand for Gendry to shake. 

“Treat her well. Or she’ll kill you and Nymeria will eat your corpse,” he stated matter-of-factly. Gendry grinned at them both. 

“Trust me, m’lord. I know.” The friends embraced and Arya’s face felt like it would split with the grin that stretched across it. Her family was home. All of them, for the first time. Even Theon was standing at Sansa’s side, watching the exchange. 

Two days later, Arya didn’t skid into the forge. She opened the door silently, padding into the room without making a sound. The fire was dying and she could hear Gendry’s snoring from the back room. She purposefully kicked a piece of metal on the floor, barely flinching at the loud clang as it hit the wall. Gendry woke with a start, appearing in the doorway, shirtless and knife in hand. His hand dropped to his side when he saw her. “Arya?” She shrugged. 

“I couldn’t sleep.” His shoulders fell and he set the knife down before walking towards her and wrapping her in his arms. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered in her ear. Arya shook her head, burrowing her face into his chest. His skin was warm and her nose was freezing. He flinched slightly before squeezing her tighter. 

“I know. I want to.” She leaned back to look at his face. “Truly.” Gendry pressed his lips to hers and Arya melted into the kiss. She really hadn’t been thinking of running, but just being near Gendry was enough to make the idea ridiculous. He knew she would never be a proper lady and she knew he’d never stop being a hammer-wielding blacksmith. They wouldn’t ask each other to. It wasn’t what her lady mother would have wanted, but she imagined her father would find the entire thing amusing. She was getting married, but damn all of the gods if she wasn’t doing it her own way. 

“You should go,” Gendry said finally. Arya sighed. 

“Sansa will kill me if she finds out I did not spend the entire night in my bed.” Gendry put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around, giving her a slight shove towards the door. Arya smiled impishly over her shoulder at him. He was going to be her husband. The next day. He’d snuck up on her and into her life, but she found that she didn’t mind as much as she used to. 

The morning of Arya’s wedding dawned with a fresh snowfall, covering the melting ice with a fresh layer of powder. Arya didn’t know if she still believed in the old gods, but the snow made her want to. Before she could dress to meet Sansa to break their fasts together, someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?” she called.

“It’s me,” Sansa answered, already opening the door. A serving girl trailed behind her, carrying a tray piled with food. Sansa gestured for her to set it on the table. “Thank you, Beth,” she dismissed with a smile. Arya scrunched up her face in confusion.

“What is happening?” Sansa rolled her eyes. 

“It’s your wedding day, Arya. And I know that you will always be a Stark and you’re not leaving unless I find a husband and birth an heir, but it feels like things are changing,” she explained. Arya sighed and sat down at the table, beckoning for her sister to take the seat opposite. 

“Nothing’s going to change. Well, some things will, but I won’t. I’ll still be here and I’m not about to become a lady just because I’m someone’s wife.” Sansa chuckled. 

“I know that.” Arya piled food onto a plate and began eating, only pausing to hand Sansa a lemon cake. 

“Eat,” she commanded. 

“Yes, you certainly aren’t changing,” Sansa teased. Arya didn’t look up from her meal until it was gone. Once they had both eaten their fill, she let Sansa lace her into an ivory gown and talked her down from tying her hair into a fancy braid. Sansa settled for two braids, tied in the back like their mother used to wear, leaving most of her dark hair to tumble down her shoulders. When it was time to drape the Stark maiden’s cloak over Arya’s shoulders, Sansa’s eyes shone with tears. 

“Sansa?” Arya questioned. Sansa flushed and shook her head.

“It’s nothing. It’s just- I spent my childhood dreaming of a fairytale wedding to a golden prince. Now, I’ve been married twice and I’ve never truly had a wedding. It’s just not what I thought it would be. And I certainly didn’t expect to be helping you prepare for your own wedding. By the time Mother and Father talked, well, threatened, you into this, I thought I’d be in the capitol, traveling back for the wedding with a pack of children at my side.” Arya turned to take her sister’s hands. 

“None of this worked out like it was meant to. But, we’re in Winterfell. And I’m getting married of my own free will. That’s nothing short of a miracle,” she japed. Sansa snorted, covering her mouth quickly with her hand in embarrassment. 

“Oh, come on. Jon will be waiting.” Arya followed her sister to the edge of the godswood, where Jon was waiting. Sansa hugged her and Arya relished the embrace before her sister left her to take her place. 

Jon held out his arm. “It’s not too late to run, you know.” Arya rolled her eyes, everyone seemed to think she would be running. She wasn’t a little girl anymore and the implication stung slightly. 

“And it always goes so well when Starks run away.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them, but Jon just shook his head at her. He knew that no harm was meant. “And anyway,” she covered, “I don’t want to run.” Jon shrugged and escorted her into the trees, slowly as they approached the heart tree. 

Gendry stood in front of the tree with a nervous smile on his face. Arya grinned at him before looking up at Jon. Her favorite sibling looked about as excited as he had to go off to war. She nudged him in the ribs. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, we both know that I can easily best Gendry in a fight.” Jon’s mouth quirked into a smile, his shoulders shaking silently as he struggled to contain his laughter. 

“That you can, Arya.” They reached the tree and Gendry looked at her, waiting for confirmation that he was meant to speak. She nodded and refrained from rolling her eyes. 

“Who comes? Who comes before the gods?” he asked, only stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. It had been easily agreed that she would be married with the same ceremony as every Stark before her, but that didn’t mean Gendry was comfortable with their gods. 

“Arya of House Stark comes here to be wed,” Jon responded. “A women grown and flowered, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“Gendry of House Baratheon, knighted by Queen Daenerys, First of Her Name. I claim her. Who gives her?” Gendry recited, visibly becoming more comfortable as he looked at Arya. She made a face at him and immediately felt Sansa’s glare. 

“Jon Snow of the Night’s Watch, her cousin through her father’s blood.” Jon turned to Arya. “Lady Arya, will you take this man?” Arya grinned. 

“I take this man.” She released Jon’s arm and took her place beside Gendry, grasping his hands as they knelt before the heart tree in silent prayer. They rose together and Gendry silently unclasped her cloak, letting it fall to the ground as Sansa approached with the one she had had made in Baratheon black and gold.

The new cloak was cold, and lighter than the previous one, but heavy with the weight of what it represented. Officially, Arya was no longer a Stark. Arya Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard, was officially dead. Arya Baratheon, wife of Ser Gendry, rose in her place. It didn’t feel as strange as it ought to. After all, her children, if she had any, would be just as much Stark as they were Baratheon. The North was in her bones and changing a name didn’t take that away. Nor could it take away the direwolf the size of a small horse that sat several feet away. Draped in Baratheon colors, she felt no less a Stark. Arya looked up at Gendry and he smiled at her gently, obviously still afraid that she would run. Instead, she took his hands and smiled. 

In the end, all she had needed to do was fall in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Thank you so much for everyone's support, this oneshot definitely got away from me. Please, please comment and let me know what you think and what you want to see next! I have a lot of feelings about a lot of ASOIAF characters and ideas, canon or AU, and any sort of recs about where to go next would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
